Good Men
by thisisnotmybeautifulhouse
Summary: ... Can only be pushed so far: Merlin finally has his Anakin Skywalker moment, or A Dark 4x13 AU
1. Good Men can only be pushed so far

He knelt down beside the still and broken form of his mother, the woman who had given everything to love and protect him, and now could give no more, and felt something cold and dark growing within. Running a trembling hand through her dark tresses, only just beginning to show signs of grey, he raged against the knowledge that she died long before her time.

He looked up into the smirking, self-satisfied face of the one who ordered her murder, and then glanced over at his king, the man for whom he forever made sacrifices, and he was _done_.

The wretched anguish in Arthur's eyes did nothing for the icy flames of grief-ridden fury which both burned and froze him in turn. He knew that the others looked on in fear and sadness as well, and still he found no comfort; this was not their mother. This was not the woman who had told them bedtime stories, played with them, cared for them when they were sick, fed them, clothed them, shielded them from the eyes of a vengeful and unstoppable king. No. This pain was his, should only _be_ his. The only other person with any right to mourn this wonderful, simple, amazing woman lay buried in the ground already.

He let the agony and the loss and the torment and the sorrow and the bitterness swell and become a new kind of power, an all-encompassing, irresistible force within, and then he turned on Morgana's invading army and let loose the inexorable explosion.

He oversaw with grim satisfaction as the place which once was his entire life began to go up in flames, reflecting on the irony of the fact that while it was Morgana who seemed so eager to watch the world burn, he was ultimately the one to wreak unholy destruction on his first home.

When at last the deed was done, and the tiny village of Ealdor lay in a pile of so much ash, like a blanket of sullied snow upon the ground, mingled with the charred and desiccated bodies of friend and foe alike, he turned to face his master and watched his face, now the same color as the remains littering the dirt, as he realized what must come next.

But Merlin merely shook his head, picked up the shell of the woman who brought him into this world, this unrelenting place of suffering, and walked away, leaving his destiny behind. Let Albion go to hell. After all, _he_was already there.

Notes: I got into a discussion with **dorkathus** about Kilgharrah, and how he made some really eyebrow-raising decisions in the first two seasons because of his grief and his loneliness, and then I was like, "Let's hope that never happens to Merlin... Oh. What an interesting plot bunny you are." *pets plot bunny* And **dorkathus** gave me a bit of a nudge. Initially, I figured it would take me a while to work up enough... I don't know - morbidity? - to tap this one out, but then it just sort of came to me, so. Here it is. Also, thanks and tons of dark chocolate go to**jelazakazone** for the lightning fast beta help.


	2. Undone Watching the world fall apart

Disbelief and anguish tore through him as he stared over at the lifeless form of the one woman he might have wished to call mother – the only woman who could ever be worthy of the title.

His uncle's betrayal still sharp, he wondered dazedly why everything he loved seemed to be crumbling around him, starting with Morgana's alliance with Morgause the year before, and culminating in this tragic tableau in his closest friend's home.

He watched as Merlin glared death at Agravaine and then turned his piercing stare on him, instead, and felt rent open and bleeding on the ground beneath him as freshly as when he first saw Hunith fall under the brutal hands of the hideous and vicious men his uncle commanded in Morgana's place. As he looked on, something which was once so open and soft and warm in his friend hardened and brittled, and a frission of apprehension crept into his consciousness, past the pain and the sorrow and the desperate desire to deny the truth of – _so many_ things.

His friend turned away from him, leaving Arthur bereft, because as painful as staring into his broken gaze had been, not seeing his face was so much _worse_.

And then his world went up in flames, both in his heart and in the village around him. He trembled with shock and horror at the knowledge that this unstoppable tide of destruction came from _Mer_lin, who called him names and said ridiculous greetings in the morning and wrote his speeches and 'helped' with his breeches in council meetings and was always_ there_.

He sickened with the smell of burning flesh, and fought against the need to expel his meager breakfast upon the small patch of earth around him, which remained untouched by Merlin's outpouring of sorrow and suffering, matching the little island where he guarded his dead mother's body.

When the sorcerer – for that is what he was, even though Arthur's mind struggled vainly against the understanding – finished wreaking his recompense on Agravaine, Morgana's men, and the smugglers which grudgingly sheltered them, along with Guinevere – _Guinevere! How could he?_ – he looked back at Arthur and the King of Nowhere felt himself swallow drily and strove to prepare himself for his own fiery end.

That end never came.

As he watched the man who looked like his Merlin – but could not possibly be his Merlin, because Merlin was _good_, and he would never hurt so much as a_ fly_, let alone destroy hundreds of people, including women and children – depart purposefully with Hunith's body, Arthur wondered how he could possibly carry on from here.

And then it was simple.

He could not.

Taking out the hunting knife which Merlin – the real Merlin, because that_ wasn't! _– had stashed in Arthur's boot after he woke that morning, Arthur did the one thing he never thought he would have to do.

A hundred yards away, Merlin felt the last thing tethering him to his humanity slip slowly away, and then he could feel nothing at all.

Notes: : **dorkathus** has added her brilliant contribution to the drabble circle of doom, from Agravaine's perspective. Dude. Read it.

**jelazakazone** has thrown her brilliant hat into the ring, with a piece from Morgana's point of view. Go forth and see the awesome.

For **dorkathus**' fic of amazingness, go read Foundation.

For **jelazakazone**'s epic fic, go read Fire and Ice.


End file.
